Voices part Five

(links to the previous chapters can be found at the end of the story)

Looking Back to Chapter Four

This is where we left of from the previous chapter of the Voices series:

Correctional Officer Jansen wheeled Timothy into the small interrogation room, stopping at the table where Dr. Havelock was already seated. Without saying a word, Jansen gave a respectful nod to Havelock and stepped out, closing the door quietly behind him.

Dr. Havelock adjusted his glasses, his tone calm but direct. “Timothy, this is hardly the environment suited for a seventeen-year-old.”

“You’re Havelock, right?” Timothy asked, leaning slightly forward in his chair.

“That’s correct,” Havelock replied, setting his pen aside.

“Well, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

“Oh? Let’s hear it.”

“Why do you insist on calling me Timothy?” Timothy’s voice sharpened. “My name is Rick Henry.”

“My apologies, Rick. That was my oversight.”

“Timothy has filled me in about you,” Rick continued. “He says you’re his psychoanalyst.”

“You two seem to have an open line of communication. How does that make you feel?”

“Cut the psychoanalyzing, Doc,” Rick said bluntly. “I know your tricks. Timothy told me you’re sneaky.”

Havelock gave a measured nod, silently encouraging him to go on.

“Timothy’s afraid of you,” Rick stated. “He won’t admit it, but I know. You don’t scare me, though. I see right through your attempts at hypnotism.”

Havelock rested his hands on the table. “I have a question for you, Rick.”

“Ask away, Havelock.”

“Where is Timothy right now?”

Rick smirked knowingly. “Another one of your little tricks, huh? Nice try, but I’m onto you. I’ve already said too much. We’re done here.”

Havelock nodded, accepting the conclusion. “That’s your choice, Rick.”

Rick hesitated briefly before softening his tone. “Actually, Doc, tell me—why am I even in here?”

Dr. Havelock leaned back, speaking carefully. “Well, Rick, it’s not you that’s…”

Timothy suddenly interrupted, his voice and demeanor shifting. “No, Doctor. Rick just left. This is Timothy.”

The Continuation

Havelock paused, noting the abrupt transformation in Timothy’s voice and posture. There was a moment of silence before he opened his notebook again, ready to dig deeper into this tangled web of personas.

“Well, Timothy,” Havelock said with a tone of delight. “It’s nice to see you.”

“I’m not sure I can say the same about you, Doctor Havelock.”

“And that’s okay, Timothy.”

Timothy shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair but remained silent.

“Timothy, I understand that you and Rick Henry are friends.”

“I wouldn’t say we’re friends. It’s more like an arrangement of convenience.”

“How do you feel about that, Timothy?”

“How am I supposed to feel? You tell me—you’re the doctor.”

“There’s no one specific way you’re supposed to feel, Timothy. That’s entirely up to you.”

“Well, then, if it’s up to me, I feel like a crab cake being eaten by another crab cake.”

“If that’s how you feel, Timothy, then that’s valid.”

“I don’t get it, Doctor Havelock. Every time I talk to you, it seems like I can never give you a wrong answer.”

“This isn’t about right or wrong, Timothy. It’s about you. So, if you feel like a crab cake right now, then that’s who you are.”

“Well, that’s just silly.”

“Is it silly, Timothy?”

“I mean… since I’m the one who said it, I guess not.”

“How did you meet Rick?”

“He knocked on my bedroom door one day, and I let him in. Big mistake—I should’ve never let him in.”

“Why was that a mistake, Timothy?”

“You might not have noticed—or maybe you have—but Rick is psychotic.”

“Why do you think that, Timothy?”

“Rick was born into a wealthy and famous family—the Henry family of Thousand Oaks. As a kid and preteen, he was always in the spotlight, surrounded by flashing cameras and nosy reporters. He never had the chance to just be a kid. He had no real friends.”

“That sounds like a lonely childhood.”

“It was. But then, when he was 12, he found this hidden paradise beyond the fountains in his backyard. Behind the shrubs and flowers, there was this quiet, peaceful retreat where he could hide from all the noise and paparazzi. He didn’t have to be the perfect boy anymore—the one with neatly combed hair and impeccably pressed clothes. Instead, he found a little wonderland teeming with life. Bugs crawling on the leaves, weaving in and out of the dirt—it was all his.”

“That sounds like the perfect escape for a 12-year-old boy.”

“Well, it was, until he discovered the insect world. He began collecting them in jars and boxes, building his own private kingdom in his bedroom.”

“It sounds like Rick created a miraculous, wonderful world to escape to when he needed to avoid the noise and the spotlight.”

“It was perfect—until he became obsessed with the insects. He started seeing them as symbols of everything he hated about his life. The ladybugs represented his mom, and the worms symbolized his dad. He began separating the ladybugs and worms from the other insects, putting them into their own jars. When his rage grew, Rick would take those jars, empty them into a plastic bag, and stomp on it until they were all dead. It gave him a sense of power—a twisted satisfaction. Killing those ladybugs and worms in large numbers made him feel good. He even started calling himself a mass murderer—and he liked that.”

“How does it make you feel that Rick refers to himself as a mass murderer?”

“Well, Dr. Havelock, it appeals to my most raw emotions.”

“Timothy, our time for this session is up, but I want to ask you one last question: How would you feel if I told you that you have killed someone?”

“The idea thrills me.”

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Links to Chapters One through Four

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Mysteriously with Love, RHC ❤️